On Sunday I went along to the gala screening of The Man Who Would Be King at the Edinburgh film festival, and it turned out to be a great event for all sorts of reasons. First of all, The Man Who Would Be King is one of those great popular classics that you see on TV all the time, but rarely, if ever, gets on the big screen. (More good news: it's going to get a full cinema release in the autumn.)

All sorts of nuances and gestures become evident that get lost on TV and Sean Connery's understated acting style really comes into its own – I don't think I'd be alone in having always felt Michael Caine had stolen the movie.

Be that as it may, Connery turned up to introduce the film at Edinburgh's ornate Festival theatre: as this is his final year as the film festival's patron it was a fitting tribute. Connery himself, a sprightly 79 years old, seemed pretty choked up at the occasion – unexpectedly so, he said. Not only was he quitting a job he enjoyed, but he recalled having trod the very same boards once before, 60 years ago as an extra in an Anna Neagle musical. (Taking the trip up to one of the film festival's other gala screening venues can't have been so delightful: the Fountain Park multiplex is bang in the middle of his route as a milkman's boy, back in the 1930s.)

Caine, apparently, couldn't make the screening, but Connery was joined on stage by Saeed Jaffrey, the veteran Indian actor who had a key role in the film as the Gurkha rifleman Billy Fish, he of the "by Jove, yes indeed" repartee.

Jaffrey, himself 81, can't walk so well but still managed a heartfelt little speech about how much he enjoyed making the film, and even slipped in a Persian proverb.

Obviously there's a promotional side to this sort of thing, as the gang of photographers and autograph hunters outside every gala screening testifies. But there's also no doubting the benefit of a good dose of sentimentality to the audience's experience: there's something gratifying about clapping someone before and after a film showing, a live interaction that cinema, by definition, is normally deficient in. And there's definitely something sanctifying in the fleshly presence of a film-world legend. They seem to enjoy it too, as they don't often get to connect directly with the people watching them perform.

It can also play weird tricks on your mind. I'd never felt particularly warm towards Sean Connery before – I'd never thought he was a particularly brilliant actor, relying on a one-note, hooded-eye gruffness; nor did I even think he was the best Bond (my vote always went to Roger Moore for The Spy Who Loved Me, which cleverly communicated the primal idiocy underpinning Bond movies). But seeing Connery get all flustered as he struggled to explain why he liked the film festival so much made me think: give the guy a break. Sean's all right. Back off, everyone, leave him alone. All very unexpected.

It also reminded me of the last John Huston restoration I went to: The African Queen, last month at London's BFI Southbank. Another occasion demanding a personal touch: this time, Huston's daughter, Anjelica.

Again, not someone I'd ever found particularly engaging: formidable, certainly, clever, and someone with considerable cinematic abilities. (Say what you like, but Morticia Addams is one of the all-time great screen creations.) But listening to her talk at length about her dad (even if most of the anecdotes had already been produced in an interview we ran a few weeks earlier) really made an impact: this was heartfelt stuff and I began to think that Huston Sr was just a lovable old bear instead of the film-set martinet he's normally portrayed as. Sentiment is powerful stuff.